Serendipity
by Maphessios
Summary: When the opportunity to play Sherlock with Isabelle Lightwood becomes available, Clary Morgenstern jumps at the chance. But when discovering more about Max Lightwood's death means learning more about her own family and a late night robbing turns into a friendship with a golden boy hunting down a murderer, will she discover she's bitten off more than she can chew? Clace. AU/AH. R&R
1. CHAPTER 1: THE AGE OF UNDERSTATEMENT

**SERENDIPITY** _(REWRITTEN)_

* * *

 **Full Summary: When the opportunity to play Sherlock with Isabelle Lightwood becomes available Clary Morgenstern jumps at the chance. But when discovering more about Max Lightwood's death means learning more about her own family and a late night robbing turns into a friendship with a golden boy hunting down a murderer with a vendetta, will** _ **she**_ **discover she's bitten off more than she can chew and will Jace accept his serendipity? Clace. AU/AH**

* * *

 _CHAPTER 1: TH_ _E AGE OF UNDERSTATEMENT_

 _'_ _And there's affection to rent_

 _The age of the understatement_

 _Before the attraction ferments'_

 _\- The Last Shadow Puppets, The Age of Understatement_

* * *

Clary Morgenstern was not rich. She couldn't say that she had ever had to work hard for money and she never had to sit outside her local _McDonalds_ begging for a few cents because everything she ever needed was a credit card swipe away, but she wasn't rich. She wasn't exactly poor and sometimes the line between lower-upper class and _upper_ -upper class blurred, but she definitely wasn't rich – at least not by her standards. But whoever was trying so desperately to get into her room seemed to disagree.

In all her years living in New York she never had any experiences with robbers, neither did her friends, family or family-friends so when she woke up to the sound of someone tinkering with her window lock she didn't know exactly how to act. Was she supposed to be scared for her life or pissed that some asshole woke her up? _Who the hell robs a house at 11 pm?_ Clearly, this thief wasn't the smartest tool in the shed.

You see, ever since a disasterly construction error during the renovation of the house, Clary had 'owned' the entire second and third floor whilst her brother, Jonathan, got the fourth and the basement (why he would want or need a basement, Clary didn't want to know). And so, she got the ceiling as well as all the walls knocked down, turned the room into a retro looking living area that opened up into a bedroom which could only be described as great gatsby-esque, a slightly larger than life nook for her art supplies that was slowly and unconsciously expanding and a lush en-suite bathroom fit for a queen. It _was_ perfect. Keyword: ' _was_ '. But now Clary was beginning to see the fault in her seemingly flawless room design. There were no doors (except for the bathroom door and the door to the hallway, of course). The plan was supposed to be open living – fresh, new and funky – but as the night went on it was beginning to seem more like 'open for stealing'. If someone _were_ to try and murder her, for example, it wouldn't exactly be Mission Impossible. Even though she knew anxiety and paranoia were shrouding every logical thought she had, Clary couldn't help but feel the slightest bit scared.

So she did what any normal, sane person would do.

She prepared for battle.

As quietly as possible, her hand roamed for something to use as a weapon with her eyes trained on the hands that were fumbling with the lock and she almost screamed in delight when she felt the cool, cold metal of her reading lamp. _Perfect_ , she thought. Guessing that the intruder wouldn't be able to see her short self since the living room window only took up a small portion of space, she hopped out of her lush bed and speed-crawled across the soft grey carpet before rolling behind the plump brown couch, her lamp poised for action.

A click sounded through the room. "Finally," a deep, honey-like voice whispered. _A guy._ Clary wanted to lift her head to see the face of the beautiful voice but decided against it. _The dude could be armed,_ she thought _._ And so she waited, relying on her hearing to decide when to 'attack'. The burglar groaned quietly as he lifted himself into the room closing the window behind him. _One step. Two steps. Three._ And before he had any time to rifle through her sock drawer she pounced.

The redhead was no G.I Joe or James Bond, had little to no training in self-defense and had the bodily strength of a hamster on steroids but despite her clear disadvantage she was doing surprisingly well. Clary had jumped onto the robbers back and proceeded to whack him with her lamp. Probably hard enough to draw blood through his black ski mask. How Jonathan hadn't woken up through all the commotion was a mystery as the thief had bumped into every object in the room, smashing a few in the process. "Stop! For the love of God, please stop!" He screamed and despite his request she continued her assault on his head. Unfortunately, Clary's attack didn't last for as long as she would have hoped for as before she could say Jack Robinson, Clary was being thrown down onto her couch as her lamp went smashing through the window, her body flat against the sofa with his flush against hers the thief holding her arms down and staring down at her. _Golden eyes._

The man was panting over her and was probably sweating but still hadn't removed his mask. Clary wondered if the rest of him was as perfect as his voice and eyes.

"Get off of me!" Clary's voice was weak to even her own ears so she doubted that she was doing a good job convincing the robber, especially when she said, "I've already called the police and they'll be here any minute now so unless you plan on spending your weekend in jail I suggest you get off. Now." Despite her threat, the golden eyed boy didn't look the slightest bit worried.

"I will. Only if you promise not to do that again." He took a labored breath between every few words and even though the little voice at the back of her head told her to beat the shit out of him, she nodded. _If he wanted to kill me he would have done it already. Right?_ , she thought. Slowly he lifted himself up before standing up completely, his hands raised in the international sign for 'I surrender'. Before getting up herself, Clary looked around and inspected the damage. Everything was a mess. The chairs had been turned over, all her art supplies had been knocked over and there was a huge crack in her window.

"It's a mess," she said more to herself than to the golden-eyed boy.

"I know," he voiced warily, "And I'm sorry." Clary had to tilt her head up slightly to look into his eyes (seeing that she was a little over 5'3 and he was practically a giant) but found them to be hard and emotionless instead of sorry.

"You should be." Her voice came out harder than she intended. "But, what I want to know is why you choose my house in particular - I'm not that rich."

He let out a humorless laugh and she saw something akin the playfulness dance in his eyes to match the smirk that played on his lips, " _I'm not that rich._ " He laughed again more to himself than to Clary. "Any idiot could tell you're rich – it's in the way you walk, speak, _look_ ". Clary was beginning to dislike this guy more and more as the night went on.

"Oh, and what _do_ I look like, asshole?" _Who does this guy think he is? Breaking into my house and judging my appearance?_

"Well Red-"

"-Don't call me Red."

He continued, "Look at what you're wearing and tell me that that outfit isn't worth more than this room."

Clary couldn't answer that question. Even though her simple white shirt and black jeans _looked_ quite cheap she knew it probably cost more than her whole house, let alone her room. Her brother had always bought her clothes, he just asked what colour and what sizes and suddenly there was a box full of clothes outside her door and even though neither of them worked, she knew that Jonathan spent money like it grew on trees. Ever since the death of her father and the disappearance of her mother, Jonathan Fray had been an anti-social shut in only leaving his room to say 'good morning' and 'goodnight' to Clary. There was a time when he was different. When he could be the center of attention at any event and almost seemed to radiate confidence but because of the unfortunate incidents, he was no longer the Jonathan that everyone knew and loved.

Clary looked the golden eyed boy up and down, stopping at his shoes, and found his snide comment to be rather hypocritical.

"Well Mr. Timberlands," She clearly wasn't as creative as him when it came to nicknames and they both openly cringed at her comment, "I don't think you're one to judge. Your outfit doesn't exactly scream homeless."

"Who said I was homeless? How could someone as stunningly attractive as _me_ be homeless?" Clary rolled her eyes and let the obviously self-centered comment go.

"Why else would you be robbing someone's home?"

"I wasn't robbing."

"Then what were you doing?"

"I was looking." Jace averted his gaze, rubbing his hand behind his neck.

"For what?"

"For someone." Clary was becoming awfully tired of his cryptic answers and was going to, again, let it go but a more stubborn part of Clary felt like she needed to know.

"I haven't got time for this – You can either tell me who exactly you're looking for or I'll call the police, right now." Clary pulled her phone out of her jean pocket.

"Well Gingersnap," He said in what she found to be a condescending voice, "it would take about 15 minutes for any police officer to get here, so lets I left right now, what would make them believe _you?"_

She smirked and voiced, "I'm Clary Morgenstern, any police department would be crazy _not_ listen to me."

What she could see of Jace went deathly pale. " _You're_ Valentine Morgenstern's daughter?"

"Yeah, asshat, I am. What makes that so hard to believe?"

And suddenly it was like he was talking _at_ her not _to_ her, reliving past memories. He stuttered, "He just told me that you were - I mean his description of you was differe-"

"You knew my father?" She asked incredulously.

"Red, I _know_ your father."

"Why are you using present tense?"

"Why are you using past?"

"Because my father is dead." She deadpanned.

"When did he die?"

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat and said, "4 years ago."

"Clary, I spoke to your dad two months ago. Valentine Morgenstern is alive."

And suddenly Clary wasn't quite aware of what was going on anymore. How could Valentine be alive when she _saw_ him being buried? It couldn't be. He had to be lying. But some part of her believed the golden eyed boy, some part of her believed that her father was still alive. The thoughts whirled and spun in her head until she felt herself falling into a darkness. _Falling, falling, falling._

* * *

Clay woke on the stiff cushions of her couch wondering how she got there before remembering the night's events. _Oh._ She was ready to pass it all up as it a terrible dream when she saw that her room was fixed; the chairs were turned over properly, her paintings no longer drooped down miserably on the wall and her art supplies all looked to be in the correct places. It was neat. _Too neat._ She looked towards her smashed window and was faced with the notion that what happened was very much real. Her father was alive. Clary didn't know whether or not she wanted to believe it. Sure, it would be great if he was alive but there was still the possibility that her robber had lied to her but when she had looked into those impossibly golden eyes she didn't see any sign that he was lying – just sadness. Towards her or her situation, she didn't know. But how could he be alive? It just wasn't possible. The police had spent months trying to figure out what happened to the infamous Mr. Morgenstern when he went missing, treating it like an episode of Scooby-Doo and when they did find his dead body via an anonymous tip, they treated his funeral like some kind of _achievement_ for the police department _._

Clary was brought out of her thoughts by the vibrating in her pocket. Pulling out her phone, 'Isabelle' flashed across the screen. She had met Isabelle in English weeks ago when she had joined Heatherwood High School after being homeschooled for eight years and the girls had immediately hit it off despite their obvious differences. She swiped right to answer the call, happy to have a distraction.

"Clary!" Isabelle started, "You'll never guess what happened."

"Was it so important that you had to call me at," she pulled the phone away from her, "3 am."

"Actually, yes it was. I've got news."

"Do tell." Clary replied absentmindedly. She wondered whether or not she should tell Isabelle about the robbing. Clary was quite new at the whole 'friendship' thing – did a robber telling her that her father was alive qualify as important news?

"You know how I was wondering about Max's death the other day?" Clary knew Isabelle was trying to be strong, but she could still the waver in her voice that could always be heard when she talked about her little brother's death – which wasn't often. For the Lightwood's, Max's death was a topic so rarely touched that any mention of it could send the whole room quiet. The little boy had died four years ago and though everyone seemed to believe that the Lightwood's knew nothing about his death, Clary knew that something about it was more than off.

Isabelle continued, "Well, I think I know how to find out who did it. Aline Penhallow has this book type list with all the guys she's dated and all the girls she hates and I think Max's murderer might be in it." Despite having gone to the school for a few weeks, Clary knew that Aline Penhallow, Camille Belcourt and Helen Blackthorn ruled to school. They had an atmosphere around them that sometimes seem to scream 'scram, nerds'. They would walk down the halls in all their high heel glory acting like they knew all your secrets, and they probably did.

"How do you know?" Clary questioned.

"I _don't_ know. I just have a feeling."

Whilst 'a feeling' might not be enough for any detective or police officer, Clary felt like she owed it to Isabelle to help her, no matter how 'ridiculous' it seemed.

"Okay, then. How do we get the book?"

"That's where you come in. Aline keeps the book at home but we need it now because Kaelie will be taking it back to her place after school today and trying to get into her house is practically impossible."

Clary knew Kaelie was rich even after a few weeks of going to school with her. Kaelie knew she was rich and didn't mind bragging so it would make perfect sense for her to have the same amount of security as The White House.

"So?" Clary asked.

"So, we break into her house tonight. As in right now."

"Isabelle, that's illegal."

"So is stealing library books, I don't see that stopping you."

"I've never stolen a library book in my life." Isabelle didn't reply for a few seconds before Clary blurted out, "Okay, maybe I have, but stealing a book and breaking and entering are two completely different crimes. I won't do it Iz."

Clary ended the conversation knowing she wasn't going to do it – so how did she end up standing outside Aline's apartment with Isabelle at her side 30 minutes later?

* * *

Clary looked up at the building. It was becoming clear that Aline wasn't as rich as her minions that followed her around at school. It was a copper colored building in a more run down part of the city rather than a grand mansion that looked like it belonged in Beverly Hills.

"Clary, look here." Isabelle said pointing at a fire escape on the side of the building, "You go up. I'll keep watch."

"Why me?"

"Because you're less noticeable." Clary wasn't sure if she was supposed to flattered or offended.

With an aggravated sigh, she sped over to the old looking ladder, trying to pull herself up making the least noise as possible. She focused all her energy on being fast, dangerous and Russian spy-like - she wasn't expecting her thoughts to turn her into James Bond or anything but they definitely help put her in the right frame of mind. By the time she had reached Aline's already open window, she was sweating like a pig in her all black joggers Isabelle had made her wear and was ready to give up but she couldn't go all the way up there and come back down empty-handed. So she swiftly opened the window up an inch more to fit herself in.

When she had regained her bearings, she took a moment to look around the room. She could barely see in the pitch black dark but she could tell the room wasn't big, but it wasn't exactly small and it wasn't cheap looking, but it didn't exactly scream rich either. What she did know was this it was going to be hell trying to find _anything_ in Aline's room. Everything was everywhere and Clary wouldn't consider herself a neat freak, or anything but it was getting hard to simply _look_ at the room. She sighed quietly and took a few steps into the room before bumping into something hard, solid and tall.

Before she could fall straight on her ass, muscular arms caught her. Golden eyes she'd seen earlier that night stared down into her green ones and a smooth, honey-like voice whispered,

"Red?"

* * *

 **Is Clary's father really alive? Will Isabelle ever find out who killed Max? What type of secrets are the Lightwoods hiding from the world? What is Jace's connection with Valentine? Why was Jace in Aline's room?**

 **About 4 months ago I posted around 3 chapters of this fanfiction but under a different username before deleting it - this is the (not really) new, improved, reviewed version of Serendipity and I hope you all enjoy it.**

 **Thanks for reading and please review!**

 **\- Lee**


	2. CHAPTER 2: NEON RUST

**SERENDIPITY**

* * *

 _CHAPTER 2: NEON RUST_

' _Sweet golden rose, don't ever rust  
Be ever so delicate, when lending your trust'_

 _\- Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes, Neon Rust_

* * *

"What are you doing here?" He seethed. The moon casted a faint glow on the man, his hair a golden halo, and she took time she didn't have to _really_ look at him. At first, the romantic in her saw nothing but perfection; The golden hair curling wildly at the ends, the fit body of an athlete, the impossibly golden eyes, he didn't have a single visible imperfection - but things were starting to look a bit different. Shadowed by bags that made her think he hadn't slept in a while, his eyes looked harder, like nothing could deter him from whatever the hell he was doing.

"What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?" Clary retorted. He was the _last_ person she'd expected to see and she obviously wasn't very happy about it.

"Frankly, that's none of your busines-"

"'That's none of your business.'" she mimicked as he had done just a few hours ago.

He sighed then said, his golden eyes serious, "Listen, if you want to act like a five year old then fine but right now, little girl, I suggest you keep your voice down." Clary was seeing red. Who was he to tell her what she should and shouldn't do? Even though she knew what he was saying was probably smart she was too stubborn to let him get away with treating her like that.

Completely ignoring what he said, she snapped, "My name is not little girl!" causing Aline to stir beside the two.

She was beginning to wake up.

"Oh, look what you've done now-" The golden boy didn't get time to finish his sentence because red and blue lights were suddenly flashing across his face and across the room, the sound of thundering footsteps echoed and filled the silence like a casual reminder that they were, in fact, breaking and entering. Clary didn't want to spend the rest of her night in a jail cell and apparently the boy in front of her was having the same thought process because as the sound of hurried footsteps got louder he did a quiet run up and jumped - right out of the window.

Deciding not to check if his body was splattered across the ground, Clary dived under Aline's bed, knocking all her forgotten junk out of the way just as the door opened and a slim ray of light dispersed on the bedroom floor. Black combat boots stood still in the middle of the room - waiting, listing.

"There's no one up here!" A deep, low voice called.

"I could have sworn I heard something," the voice that replied was female and Clary assumed it was Aline's mother. "Sorry for the trouble, Officer Hartley, and thank you."

"No problem, ma'am. But if it makes you feel safer we've got the team watching the building."

 _Looks like I'm not getting out of here anytime soon,_ Clary thought miserably.

Her body begin to grow stiff - arms crossed over her chest like a mummy with her feet squashed near her body in an attempt to take up less space - and she momentarily wished that she had jumped with the boy except looking back he probably would have landed gracefully whilst she would've plummeted face first into the tarmac. _Ouch._ And to make the situation worse, Clary suspected that Isabelle bolted as soon as the police came even though it was her idea to come her in the first place. But Clary knew she was being unreasonable - if she had lost Jonathan the way Isabelle lost Max, she would be doing everything in her power to bring him to justice. Max had been murdered in an alleyway behind Pandemonium, a club popular for fights and drugs, and his body wasn't found until the next morning. Imagining Jonathan in the same situation almost brought tears to her eyes. Jonathan and Clary may not have been the best of siblings but she had already lost two family members to death and she didn't need to lose a third. _But the wasn't exactly true._ Jocelyn _wasn't_ dead. At least not in Clary's opinion or the opinions of many others. Everybody just suspected she was because they weren't able to find her. They gave up on her.

Jocelyn was kind, honest and patient - she would never try to hurt anybody and therefore nobody wanted to hurt her. She had no reason to leave, to abandon her family, to leave her children motherless. What made it worse was that Valentine committed suicide a few days after her disappearance - or so she thought. Because according to the man she met earlier that night, her father was alive and kicking. This, however, led Clary to the depressing realization that both her parents had abandoned her for no obvious reason and _if_ this was true then she wasn't sure if she really wanted them to come back for her at all.

* * *

Clary rolled over in a quiet sigh, her shoulder hitting the underneath of Aline's bed and the red-haired girl knew that if she didn't try and escape the messy hell that was Aline's room now, she would forever be left there to rot. _Please don't let me die here_ , she prayed to any God that was listening. She sighed again. Louder this time, as if wanting to alert someone, _anyone_ , of her current predicament but as the minutes ticked by she began to give up on the hope of any help possibly coming-

Her prayers were answered in the blaring sound of _Bon Jovi_ 's ' _Livin' on a Prayer'_ as Aline groaned reminding Clary of where she was. Clumsily, she fumbled with her phone, sliding the answer button.

"Clary!" Isabelle all but shrieked into the phone. She continued, "What's taking so long? You know, we have to be in school in, like, four hours? It takes a lot longer than four hours to look this good, Clare!"

"Oh, sorry for the inconvenience, Izzy. I was just having a cup of tea with my good friend Aline! Maybe you could come up and share some makeup tips?" Sarcasm was rolling off her tongue in waves so great Chandler Bing would be proud. Clary could feel Isabelle's eye roll.

"No, but, seriously, what's taking you so long? This isn't exactly mission impossible," Isabelle replied.

Clary whispered careful not to wake Aline, "It kind of is when a) You have no idea what this magical book looks like and b) Aline's room looks like a freaking war zone."

Isabelle let out a sigh.

"Alright then."

Clary was confused.

"Just 'alright then'? Where's the 'try harder' or the 'I don't hang out with quitters'?" It wasn't like Isabelle to give up so easily. Even though Clary had only met her 6 weeks ago when she joined Heatherwood High after 5 years of being homeschooled, she did know that Isabelle didn't go down without a fight. It was one of the many things Clary loved about the raven-haired beauty.

"Honestly, it wasn't a very well thought out plan. I should've gone in instead of you," she paused, "after all, I do know that room better than you."

"Oh, and why's that?"

"Let's just say a lot happened before I met you." Her voice turned distant and dark as if she was reliving a time she'd rather forget about. "Anyway, you can leave now. I'll come back after school with Simon or something."

Simon was the newest member of their small but slowly growing squad of five (The three of them included). He was tall and lanky with deep brown hair that almost seemed to be hazelnut with the right lighting and the same colour eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. Simon was also a total nerd. He was obsessed with manga and anime, infatuated by comics, enthralled by an array of MMORPG games and completely bewitched by the masterpiece that was _Game Of Thrones_ _ **.**_ No one in their group, not even Clary who could sometimes be the biggest geek ever, truly understood Simon and his fanboyish ways but they all loved him just the same. He also had the biggest crush on Isabelle, not that he would ever tell her.

"There's only one slight problem with that, Iz. The police have got to place surrounded."

"Oh, yeah. They left ages ago - you know what the cops are like here."

"Alright," Clary said with a sigh, "I'll be out in 5 minutes."

"Try not to wake the princess on your way out, I don't really feel like taking a trip downtown with you."

Clary chuckled at the thought before saying her goodbye and hanging up.

Clary crawled her way out slowly as quietly as she could and stood up tall twisting her body, relishing in the way her joints popped and cracked. She stared down at the princess. Her black, greasy hair fanning out across the pillow, legs tangled in her bedsheets while her arms crossed over her chest held loosely onto a book. _Wait. A book?_ It was more of a binder than a book but Clary immediately knew it was _the one._ It was bright, neon purple with three large magazine letters stuck wonkily on the cover - H,A,C. Black lipstick kisses stamped the book's entirety making it look like some kind of remade _Burn Book. Except this book would change everything,_ she thought. Treating it like a game of operation, she carefully lifted Aline's arm letting it flop of the bed. She did the same with the other. _God, this is easy,_ she thought. But Clary spoke too soon because as she reached to retrieve the book Aline rolled to the side, the book underneath her.

 _Goddamn it,_ she thought.

* * *

Clary spent the next ten minutes in various yoga positions in an attempt to get the book but only succeed when she unceremoniously tugged it out from underneath her. Surprisingly, the princess hadn't woken and as soon as the deed was done Clary hightailed out of there, swinging herself into Isabelle's Porsche, the book tucked under her large hoodie.

"So…" Isabelle started impatiently - an impatient Izzy was never a happy Izzy.

Clary repeated, "So…"

"Is there a reason you stayed there for an extra 10 minutes or do you just like to keep me waiting?"

"Well, I was going to give you that magical book I slaved away to find," Clary said as she pulled out the bright book, "but since you don't want it…"

"No! I was just kidding! Give it here," Isabelle said with a nervous chuckle before turning on the car lights. She took a moment to take it all in, a wide, creepy smile stretching the length of her face.

"Okay, let's take a look." Isabelle flipped to a random page and they were both rendered speechless.

The page was laminated and had the title 'Officer James Hartley'. A scarily long list of everything and anything that Officer Hartley had ever done as well as _a lot_ of personal information was displayed. Both girls knew that if the book somehow got out Hartley would be in _a lot_ of trouble.

Isabelle flipped to another page. And another. And another. Going back and forth at a dizzying speed and as she flipped the secrets just got worse, the binder was filled with dirty lies and devastating betrayals that continued to surprise Clary. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of questions that would never be answered ( _Why would she cheat on her husband? How could he abuse his son? How did she get away with such a terrible murder?)_ and bile rose up Isabelle's throat as she read some of the things her closest friends had done and got away with.

Isabelle reached a page titled 'Robert Lightwood' before slamming it closed, her breathing heavy and hard.

"How about I hold onto this for a bit?" She breathed.

Clary nodded slowly.

"Okay then."

* * *

Clary arrived home 15 minutes later, her movements robotic as she made her way to the front door. _Who would make such a terrible book,_ she thought. The book seemed to be filled with information of everyone in the small town of Heatherwood so that lead Clary to thinking it must've been stolen from some sort of government official. _No._ The book was too personal for that. So it must've been made by someone living in town. But who knew enough about everyone to create a book like that? Heatherwood was a town where everyone knew everyone's business but some of the things mentioned were things that the average person just couldn't know. So was the creator someone everyone trusted with that kind of information or was it someone who was somehow entitled to know?

Clary groaned. All that thinking was making her head hurt. After the night she just had, Clary just wanted to sleep, sleep and sleep some more. Except she had less than 4 hours till school. _Goddamn it,_ she thought for the second time that night. Huffing out a sigh she opened her front door only to be grabbed and turned around to greet the same person she'd met now three times that night.

"Are you a stalker or Houdini?" she asked.

"Neither, I just want to help-"

"Help?" she interrupted, "You've done nothing but appear out of thin air and give me problems with no solutions."

Jace began once again, "But-"

"Please just," she sighed, "just leave me alone."

With that, she turned her back and shut the door on him, hoping sleep would take her away from her problems - if only for a few hours.

* * *

 **Why was Jace at Aline's house? Who created the book? What does HAC stand for? Are Clary's parents really alive?**

 **I know, I know, this chapter is** _ **really**_ **short but hopefully chapter 3, which will be up on Monday or next Wednesday, will be about 3-5k words.**

 **Thanks for reading and** _ **please**_ **review!**

 **\- Lee**


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